


Secure - Contain - Nevermind

by disgustiphage



Series: Foundation [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Secret Organizations, off-brand SCP Foundation, oops no beta, this is silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgustiphage/pseuds/disgustiphage
Summary: Crowley gets captured by a secret organization that deals with capturing and researching supernatural creatures. He’s not captive for very long.





	Secure - Contain - Nevermind

“Hello, my name is Dr. Cherry. Would you please identify yourself?”

“Anthony J. Crowley,” came the answer, spitefully. “Would you mind telling me why your people have kidnapped me, doctor?”

Currently, the demon Crowley was slouched over in a wooden chair, confined to a mostly unfurnished, white-walled chamber. There were no windows, no exits aside from the hefty steel security door at the far end of the room. The chamber’s main feature was the thrumming, golden sigil marking much of the floor like a gently glowing tattoo. Around the sigil’s rim, a flickering grid pattern of similar design formed a powerful semi-circle barrier all around him. It all had the effect of completely blunting Crowley’s ability to conjure up any demonic miracles. Effectively, he was being kept hostage. _ By humans _.

The doctor, a fellow red-head, stood by just outside of the barrier. Clipboard in one hand, he activated the recording device he carried on his person with the other. He reached for the pen in his pocket afterwards and bit at the tip.

“Sorry, forgot to hit record. Mind repeating that?”

“Yeah, actually. I mind tremendously.”

The doctor mumbled something into the microphone. Crowley, from his sitting position, scuffed at the lines on the floor. Perhaps doing it enough could erase or at least smudge them. This would not work, and deep down, he knew this, too. “You don’t smell of Heaven to me,” he muttered. “Or Hell, for that matter. How do you even… ?”

The doctor scribbled something down. “Moving on. We have reason to believe you were at least partially involved in the recent… happenings. You do know what I’m referring to, correct?”

“Oh, that,” Crowley said, slumping further forward in his chair. “_ Happenings _ . That’s what we’re going with. Happenings. Figured you humans would’ve forgotten all that mess.” He sniffed. “You _ are _human… ?”

“Yes, pretty human, last I checked,” the doctor said.

“_ Pretty _human?”

“So, you were involved in… ?”

Crowley stammered a bit, not particularly wanting to give this man a real answer. Would the human believe that he, demon and deliverer of the Antichrist though he was, had been working to _ stop _the apocalypse? Even then, Crowley doubted that would mean his release. In the back of his mind, he thought of movies about secretive government experiments on aliens and other supernatural creatures. And vivisections. And-

He quickly pushed the deeply unpleasant mental images away.

Crowley gave explaining himself a shot-- without mentioning the delivery part, nor confirming the demon part. Did they-- this suspected secret government organization-- know for sure of his nature, or was the demon trapping sigil some kind of lucky fluke on their part?

Perhaps, as he gave his quick and rough explanation, Crowley would exaggerate just how involved he was in the apocalypse’s successful failure. Exaggerate quite a lot, actually.

“Yeah, so….” Crowley gestured at the sigil. The humans’ knowledge and ability to apply this heavenly seal continued to baffle. “You’re better off letting me go and do my thing. Stopping this from happening again. Constant battle. Always on the lookout.”

Dr. Cherry jotted something down in his notes. Crowley narrowed his sunglass-hidden eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, utterly unconvinced. “Our organization is quite set on keeping you _ here _for now, I’m afraid.”

“For now? How long?” Crowley flared, “I do have plans tonight. Earth-protecting plans. Like I said. Obviously. ‘Sss... ‘s my job.”

"I'm sorry," he said, warmly now, "You're stuck here with me for a while. What _ do _I smell like, by the way?"

The doctor moved to chew at his pen again, but fumbled and sent it clattering to the floor instead. Cursing under his breath, he kneeled down to retrieve it, but did not rise again. Crowley sensed a change in the air, and a familiar aura. _Ah. _Time had stopped. The cell door swung open. Crowley grinned.

As Aziraphale approached the barrier, Crowley rose from his chair-- knocking it over in the process-- and sauntered up to meet him. The angel, disguised in a plain lab coat, smiled that lovely smile that never failed to melt hearts. Well, Crowley’s at the very least.

He had found him, just as Crowley had always found Aziraphale. The very thought was pleasantly warming.

The angel’s smile turned to a confused frown at the presence of the magic barrier before him.

“These humans have access to even this?” he said. “Curious….”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale traced a pattern against the glowing wall, a golden light trailing from his finger and lingering like light ink as it was being written. At its completion, the barrier harmlessly shattered and vanished, and the sigil on the floor faded to an inert black.

“You came to rescue me, angel?” Crowley said. “About time you returned the favor,” he added, affectionately. 

Aziraphale blushed, knowing exactly what it was he referred to. “I thought so as well, Crowley. Although, that trick we played on our superiors surely counts for something?”

“That was a mutual rescuing,” Crowley said. “We’re even on that one.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale said. A brief pause, and he finally asked, “What are you doing here, Crowley? _ You _ ? Captured by _ humans _?”

“They caught me off guard,” Crowley said, throwing up his hands. “I was expecting Hell or Heaven to come down on us, catching on to our trick or… I wasn’t expecting _ humans _ with a blessed _ salt circle _.”

Aziraphale stifled a chuckle. “A salt circle? I didn’t think those really worked on demons.”

Crowley muttered. “Yeah. Yeah, apparently, they do. This stays between us, got it?”

“Yes, yes, of course dearest,” Aziraphale said. “Though I can’t imagine who it is you think I would tell.” Crowley made a conceding noise. Aziraphale pulled the still frozen, bent-over Dr. Cherry closer and sat primly on his back.

“Perhaps it shouldn’t be so shocking. You know, I do believe I passed at least five different potentially world-ending-- and _ existence-ending-- _ entities on my way to your room? Five _ each _? All housed in the same building? Humans can be quite clever, but…. ”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, “I sensed it too. I’m not too keen on turning apocalypse-averting into a hobby, myself. But, the science humans seem to have a handle on it so far. First go at one in six thousand years, and it was on us, not them. Well, not _ us- _us, but you know. Plus, they got me, didn’t they?” he said, a bit ruefully.

“Temporarily,” Aziraphale said. He sounded just slightly winded as he spoke. “I’m relieved, but it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in this organization’s security. Did you know about it? I’d never heard of it before today.”

Crowley paced around Aziraphale. “Just rumors, really. Never gave it too much thought. You comfy there, angel?”

“Hmm?” With a snap, Crowley instantly swapped clothing with the researcher/chair, though naturally, he kept the sunglasses. “Oh!” Aziraphale quickly stood. “I suppose we should get going, then. I can’t maintain this timestop for us forever, after all.” Aziraphale had learned this convenient trick from Crowley, though he didn’t seem to practice it nearly as much as the demon did.

“Bit taxing, isn’t it?” Crowley said, grabbing the man and dragging him in the middle of the inactive floor sigil. A quick few miracles ensured that he was strapped securely to the chair-- or the chair was awkwardly strapped to him, more accurately-- and that he would emerge from the timestop deeply asleep. “Do you mind, angel?”

“This won’t fool them for more than a second,” Aziraphale said as he moved to reactivate the barrier. 

“Nah, but it amuses me.”

“Ah. That’s alright, then,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. He restarted time as Crowley locked up the chamber behind them. “You took his clipboard?”

“Humans won’t bother us if, one: we look like we belong here, and two: especially so if we look like we’re busy,” Crowley said, holding the clipboard up. “Universal sign of being busy, clipboards. Boxes, too.”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding and miracled up a small, plain, cardboard box. He cradled it to his chest. “Like this?”

“Perfect, angel. Now look like you’re concentrating really hard on something. Yeah, that’s it! You got it.” Crowley leaned over slightly. “So, what’s in it?”

Aziraphale lifted the lid, just a bit. “Chocolate.”

“Nice.” They started down the long, white hallway, passing a researcher or other miscellaneous staff now and again. None paid them any attention. Casually, Crowley started flipping through the numerous pages on the board. They seemed to be research notes, documents on various… entities. Strange objects. Supernatural creatures or events-- their containment procedures, records of _ incidents. _ Shit that’s just plain _ weird _.

“There’s a page on one of Lord Beelzebub’s flies in here?”

As he flipped through the pages, his expression turned from curiosity, to grotesque fascination, to genuine disgust. Aziraphale noticed and leaned over slightly.

“What the heaven is this place?” Crowley said. He gestured at one of the pages in the back. “Look. This page’s info is nearly entirely blacked out save for a couple words here and there. What’s anyone meant to do with that?”

“Use their imagination?” Aziraphale said, uncertainly.

“With a- a research… document, thingy?” Crowley said. Aziraphale couldn’t find any answer to that one. “Accidentally grabbed the black highlighter, maybe.”

“That’s just a marker. You can’t highlight something in black.”

“Whoever last worked on this document managed to.”

“...Blacklight, maybe.”

“That’s something else entirely.”

Their steps slowed as they approached another containment room, unable to ignore the malignant aura seeping through. Aziraphale shuddered. Crowley took him by the arm.

“Even I don’t like it, angel,” he murmured, pulling Aziraphale away. He slowly looked up at Crowley.

“Too spooky?”

“Too spooky.”

As they left, two staff carrying odd-looking devices rushed past them. One frantically slid a card up and down the electronic lock next to the door. Aziraphale looked back and subtly waved a hand at them as they ran in, blessing them with a small, good-luck miracle.

They would have continued on, had another organization member not stopped them.

"Dr. Cherry?"

"Uhhmm- wha? Me?"

"I was told to look for the red haired man," she said. "I don't usually work in this particular building, just covering, you see.” She glanced at Aziraphale. “An assistant? No one mentioned an assistant.”

“Oh! Well, you see,” Aziraphale started nervously.

“Dr. Fell,” Crowley said. “Just transfered, showing him around. Right?”

“Y-yes, right,” Aziraphale nodded. “That’s right!”

“Ah. So, how did the interview with the demon go, Dr. Cherry?"

"Ahhh, yeah, interview," Crowley mumbled. "Went well. Seems a decent fellow. Smart. Good looking," he grinned. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, with a small smirk.

"Mm.” She casually flipped through a small notepad. Voice dripping in judgment, she added, "I was told to remind you _ not _to flirt with nearly every sapient being that comes into this organization's custody. You've been warned about this several times now. "

Aziraphale and Crowley briefly glanced at each other. Crowley shrugged.

“Anyway,” she said, offering another document to Crowley. “This is for your next appointment. It’s in room 344. All yours.”

“344?”

_ Oh. _The room was right there, and the woman was not showing any signs of walking away just yet. But also, Crowley was curious.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, following him to the door. He whispered, “we are under no obligation to-- none whatsoever.”

Crowley snapped the door ajar, then tipped his head towards Aziraphale. “Not curious? Not even a little? C’mon, angel. Something goes wrong, we’ll just miracle ourselves out.”

Aziraphale partly wanted to say “no” and head straight for the exit, but then, what was the point of coming all this way to break Crowley out, just to abandon him here? Even if he _ could _easily handle himself now that he was free of the sigil… Aziraphale’s desire to be by Crowley’s side was too powerful to ignore. He joined him in the chamber.

Crowley was staring. Aziraphale joined him in this, as well.

Opposite the two, behind a shield of thick, protective glass was a massive, standing mirror. Perfectly normal, if one ignored the almost motionless man-like entity in its center. Its shape was like that of a stick figure, though with more volume. It was virtually featureless, like a shadow, darker than any shade of black known to humankind. Demonkind, yes, but this entity was no creature of Hell. Not that Crowley knew of, anyway.

He nudged Aziraphale. “Is uh… it’s not a creature of _ Heaven _, is it?”

“..._ No _, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, offended at the mere suggestion. Although, he realized immediately afterwards that it was a bit silly, considering his recent new allegiance. This was taking some getting used to. “Perhaps check the notes, dear?”

“Mmhh.” Crowley checked the page he had already clipped to the board and began to scan what turned out to be a scant document. “Class: Eu- euclid? Dunno how you’re s’posed to say that. Description, mirror, recovered at….” He looked up after a moment. “Not much to go on, really. S’pose that’s why they got me interviewing it.”

“_ Dr. Cherry _, really.”

“I’m _ Dr. Cherry _ today. Stupid name, though. He ought to change it whenever he comes to.” Crowley shook his head slightly. “Bet his parents were looking ‘round the room for names and spotted a soda machine.” 1

“Wouldn’t that be his family name, though?”

[1 It was a soda can.]

The figure in the mirror shifted slightly, as if to purposefully redirect their attention.

A normal human could have easily dismissed this entity as some kind of prop. But Crowley and Aziraphale could _ feel _it. They knew, and they knew that these humans got it right. There was something there. But, would it actually speak? Could it? The notes certainly didn’t help in this regard.

“...Uhhh, hi?” Crowley said, tucking the clipboard under his arm. No reaction. “You speak English?”

No reaction.

“¿Español?” 

「日本語話しますか？」 Aziraphale added.

“They didn’t find it _ anywhere _near Japan.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean it can’t speak the language. Besides, you _ mumbled _out the location, dearest.”

No reaction.

Aziraphale lifted the lid of his box and tentatively offered to it, “Chocolate?”

The entity did not move for a long moment. Aziraphale was about to suggest that they leave when the man-shaped creature suddenly opened its eyes. Also, it turned out to have eyes. Big, round ones. They glared, wide, unblinking.

Within the mirror, dark tendrils began to emerge from below the figure, sliding slowly across the floor and climbing the walls. Simultaneously, more tendrils materialized from a single point in the ceiling, directly above where the mirrored man would have been standing had it actually been in the room. 

“That-- that doesn’t look good.”

In the mirror, the tendrils accelerated and multiplied, painting the room in that occult black. So, too, did the tendrils in the real world. Crowley and Aziraphale crowded together as the walls filled, shadows racing to meet in the floor’s center. Just a moment before they would have touched them, Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The mirror, and the tendrils, vanished in an instant. 

Still leaning into each other, Crowley said, “Uhh. What did you do?”

“I, um,” Aziraphale said, fidgeting, “sent it away.”

“Where, though?”

“Just,” he cringed, “a-away?”

Crowley straightened up, tucked his hands into his pockets. “They caught it once, they’ll do it again, yeah? Let’s get out of here. Fast.”

“Agreed,” Aziraphale said. He was the first out the door. There would be no more offering to share snacks with strange anomalous beings for a long, long time.

Thankfully, the hallway was currently empty. They turned at the next corridor, and pretended the last several minutes hadn’t actually just occurred.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale said without prompting, “It must have been the… er, not-pocalypse? Fish raining from the sky and kraken and other such phenomenon seem to be within this organization’s domain. Why else would they come for you now?”

“I think they were after you too, angel,” Crowley said. “Just not as easy for a human to capture one, s’all.” Crowley smirked, and tipped his head, letting his golden reptile eyes peek just above his sunglasses, “that doesn’t want to be caught.”

“I was not _ allowing _myself to be captured all those times,” Aziraphale huffed. “I was simply caught off-guard, as you were today, or conserving miracles.”

“Right. If you say so, angel.”

Aziraphale quickly moved on. “What did you say before? That someone may have been after me as well?”

“Displaying that full-on angelic fury at obnoxious customers so often was bound to draw attention at some point,” Crowley said, recalling the last time one patron (“patron”) of Aziraphale’s bookshop (book “shop”) refused to leave without a particular book. 

_ “Come on. Work with me, here. Name your price.” _

_ “Very well. Ten thousand.” _

_ “That-- that better be in pesos.” _

_ “Afraid not.” _

_ The customer, annoyed, still reached for his checkbook. _

_ Quickly, Aziraphale had said, “Apologies. I misspoke. Fifteen thousand.” _

_ “What is this, a fucking auction?” _

_ Aziraphale took a deep breath. “This is _ me _ telling _ you _ that _ I am not selling you that book. _ Please leave. I’ve thanked you for coming several times now and yet _ you’re. Still. Here. _ ” _

_ “Fifteen thousand….” the man said, lifting pen to paper. _ In one ear, out the other, _ as they say. Aziraphale glanced across the room at Crowley, leaning against one of the shelves, watching the show. It was a warning. _

_ Even in sunglasses, Crowley couldn’t look directly at the flaring angel just then. Too long a glance at the brilliant flash of light and so many feathered wings and so many _ many _ firey eyes and spinning wheels-- at Aziraphale letting his true form bristle with such intensity-- this was enough to make Crowley’s own eyes feel as if they might be seared out of his head. He could more easily bear to look when the angel _ wasn’t _ angry, but not like this. _

_ Not that his angel would ever dare subject him to this power directly nor purposefully. Maybe if he did it gently, carefully…. _

_ The obnoxious customer pushed the finished check into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale rumbled, politely irritated, in an ancient language understood by no one else in the room but Crowley. _

_ And cowering in the corner, smartphone in shaking hand, was a woman in a dark trenchcoat. _

“It’s never been a problem before,” Aziraphale said. “It’s-- it’s as you’ve said before, Crowley. That, er… mental….” 

“Weirdness censor,” Crowley nodded. Even should humans witness divine or iniquitous power displayed before their own eyes, it is soon dismissed. _ Oh, it’s a trick of the light, it’s my imagination. I’m going to quit huffing glue today. _

_ That adorable ol’ bookseller couldn’t have turned into a golden eldritch horror. Must’ve tripped and somehow landed face-first into that glue habit again. _

“Congratulations, angel. You must’ve found its limit.” 

Crowley smirked slightly. That one patron must’ve had their weirdness censor turned up to eleven. He had felt bad for Aziraphale, but it was one of those memories that still popped up from time to time, often in public, forcing him awkwardly attempt to hide his visible amusement.

And that _ other _customer….

“You know that regular of yours? The weird lady in the black coat? Habit of humming a lot? She’s recorded you. I saw-- it was that last time you attacked a customer.”

“I’ve never attacked anyone!” Aziraphale paused. “Not, not since… nevermind.”

Another silence.

“She... recorded me?” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Well, you know, technology these days. Surely nobody would believe that was real footage.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, “Unless she was working for this place, maybe.”

“Oh but Margella is such a dear!” Aziraphale said. “You really think she was observing me? Filming, taking notes, like some kind of... research project?”

“Such a dear,” Crowley mimicked. Said customer had not been a regular for especially long. Presumably, she started coming in to follow the strange rumors and online reviews the bookshop had accumulated. She never seemed to be interested in actually buying anything, quickly flipping through some of the books occasionally just to put on a show. The strange human spent most of her time covertly watching the angel, as if she were a wildlife expert working on a nature documentary. Occasionally, she brought him finely crafted sweets to get on his good side and allay suspicion, perhaps. _ Effective tactic. _

Crowley stiffened. “For a while I thought the little shit must’ve had a crush on you.” _ On _ my _ angel. _

“There was certainly an interest coming from her,” Aziraphale shrugged, “but not of that variety, I think.” He brushed his shoulder against Crowley’s briefly. “Not like the kind that I feel from you, dearest.” That brief touch-- such a little thing. Wonderful thing. It would take some getting used to.

_ That night they scared their superiors into leaving them be (for a while, at least), Aziraphale had rested in Crowley’s bed, with the demon’s face buried in his neck, fingers trailing through his hair. _

_ “We really made it,” he murmured. “You’re here. You’re here….” _

_ “I am. You are. We’re here and….” _

_ “You’re really here,” Crowley sighed, nuzzling deeper, gripping tighter. _

_ “Are you… crying, Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly. _

_ “Demons don’t cry,” he sniffed. _

_ “You’re coming awfully close, then.” _

_ Crowley briefly looked up. He wiped the little tears from his angel’s eyes, and Aziraphale mirrored the gesture. _

“I did have a hard time placing that exact feeling she was unconsciously projecting at me. You may be right.”

Shaken from his memories, Crowley simply made an agreeable kind of grunt.

“So ..._ Margella _ ? That’s her name?” Crowley said, scrunching his face. “She _ chooses _ to tell people that she’s called _ Margella _?”

“Mmhm.”

“Now you’ve gone and made me feel sorry for her.” Crowley shook his head. “But only slightly. Still a little shit.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but concur, although, truthfully, if she came by again with more of those sweets he favored, he could forgive her. Maybe.

“She wasn’t the one who captured you, was she?”

“Nah. Not her.” Not her, but he had recognized her stalking around his own place, in retrospect.

“Ah. There’s hope, then.”

“Hope for-?”

Crowley and Aziraphale turned slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps. A pair of researchers approached from behind. One of the two gave Crowley a questioning stare.

“Excuse me-- ?”

“Don’t bother them, Sanchegg,” the other said, pulling him as they walked past. “Ask someone who isn’t obviously busy.”

“But that guy kinda looks like the uh--- I thought he looked like the demon they just-- ?”

Quickly, quietly, Crowley tugged Aziraphale into the next corridor before they could get a better look at them. If Aziraphale was also under investigation, someone may end up recognizing him as well.

Any sign of an exit was still nowhere in sight. The vast white halls seemed to go on forever.

“Angel, do you actually remember the way out of this place?”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale murmured. He stopped and turned to face Crowley. “I was actually following you.”

“You were following--?!” Crowley barked, nearly throwing his clipboard down. “I was following you! What were you following _ me _for? You’re the one who broke in!”

“I’m sorry, dearest,” Aziraphale said, genuinely apologetic. “I just… get so caught up in you. I wasn’t allowed to be with you like this for so long… wasn’t allowing _ myself _,” he corrected with a sigh.

Crowley softened at that. “I… I know,” he said, gently, knowing he too was guilty of finding his best friend severely distracting. He set down the clipboard and reached out to touch the other’s arm, tentatively, but stopped when it was the angel who quickly grabbed his in alarm.

“Do you feel that?”

Crowley paused, letting the vague sensation come over him. It was faint to him, somehow familiar. A lump of wariness settled in his stomach. Aziraphale miracled away the box he had been holding and slowly stepped forward, heading towards the otherwise unassuming door at the end of the hall. Reluctantly, Crowley followed.

“It can’t be,” Aziraphale said, mostly to himself. “Can’t possibly be….”

With a snap of his fingers, the door came undone, swinging open for the two of them. It was not an especially secure door, strangely enough. Just wood and a normal lock, though it had all the signage that indicated another containment chamber.

Aziraphale glanced back at said demon, just a few steps behind. Noting his hesitation, he offered his hand. Crowley took it, and they passed through the door together.

The room they entered was cozy, with up-scale English style furnishings and a gently crackling fireplace enveloping everything in a warming glow-- nothing like the plain cells they had previously seen. The older man-shaped being in their plush chair, book in hand, nodded at the cautious intruders.

“Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” They started, “And Crowley, Serpent of Eden. What a surprise,” They said, though that They were surprised was highly questionable. “I’ve had so many visitors in the last several days.”

“You’re here… and in a man’s body?” Aziraphale said.

“My Skee-Ball outfit,” They said. “Draws less unwanted attention while I’m at the arcade,” They said, putting their book down. “I was planning on a day out after your little visit.”

“Arcade,” Crowley sneered. “That’s what you’ve been doing? Hiding out here and going out to play _ Skee-Ball _while the world was ending?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, squeezing his hand.

“Not the whole time,” They said calmly, standing from their seat and strolling to the far end of the room. “Skee-Ball just happens to be my favorite at the moment.” They traced a symbol across the wall with a glowing finger, its light trailing and lingering solidly behind. A door formed within an instant and came ajar.

“Go home, you two,” They said, quietly. As an aside, They added, “You could have done this kind of thing at any moment, by the way.” They chuckled, “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Wait a minute,” Crowley snarled, fanged teeth bared. He pulled away from Aziraphale’s grip and stepped forward. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Crowley!”

“Like _ what the fuck isss your problem _, for ssstarters!”

“Please!” Aziraphale said, grabbing onto Crowley’s arm once again. “We-- we should go." Quietly, he added, "Perhaps I shouldn't have brought us in here to begin with... ?”

“Really? Because now I'm glad you did,” Crowley said evenly, looking directly into Aziraphale’s eyes. “After what we’ve been through? You’re pissed off too. You have _ questions _too. I know it.”

“I… well... ” Aziraphale gulped, then murmured, “You’re not wrong.”

When they looked up from each other, however, no one else remained in the room. Crowley blessed under his breath.

“At least we know where They're hiding now,” Aziraphale said with an apprehensive chuckle.

“Yeah, but now _They _ know _ we _know,” Crowley said. He approached the magicked door and roughly swung it open so that it slammed hard against the wall, shaking the decorations it was lined with. “This issn’t over.”

He looked over to Aziraphale, who was nervously fidgeting and glancing about the room. Crowley’s anger subsided, slightly. “They didn’t seem that upset with you,” he said softly. “Ssso… there’s that. I guess.”

“You think so?” he said, daring to hope, just a little.

“You’re still an angel. I can sense it,” Crowley said. “And I haven’t been smitten.. Smote? Smoten? Sm... divine lightning’d.”

“Yes… but if you insist on chasing after Them, then, well... ?”

"If They were going to do something to us, it'd be long done already," Crowley said confidently. At least, he _sounded_ confident. He hoped.

"Yes... right. Right."

He beckoned to Aziraphale, letting him pass through the luminous white portal first. Crowley snapped his fingers right before joining Aziraphale through the door….

...and stepped into the bright bookshop.

“What was that miracle you performed?” Aziraphale said, suspicious, “right as we were leaving?”

Crowley grinned, fangs on full display, “Parting gift. Would’ve been rude not to repay the humans for my little _ vacation _, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale gave him that familiar, disapproving glare. “What did you release? I saw you eyeing that-- that terraforming cassette on the clipboard-”

Crowley threw up his hands. “Calm down, angel. It'll turn out alright,” he admitted. “They’ll figure it out.”

“No deaths?”

“No deaths,” he sighed, “No injuries,” he said reluctantly. “Just a _really_ good scare.”2

Aziraphale’s expression softened, and he placed his hands on Crowley’s arms.

“I suppose that’s alright then,” he said. Crowley stared blankly as Aziraphale pressed their foreheads together. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered. “Uh. Thanks… thanks for coming for me,” he said. “Really.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said quietly. “After nearly losing you once, I couldn’t possibly allow it to happen again. If Heaven nor Hell could keep you away from me, mere humans don’t stand a chance.

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I… I love you too, Aziraphale. Aziraphale... my angel.”

“We can’t let our guard down,” Aziraphale said, smiling, “we have to watch each other’s backs. It would be much easier if we lived together, don’t you think?” 

“I uhhh mmmm yeah,” Crowley sputtered. “I’d like that.”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale said, then leaned up to meet his lips.

[2Perhaps too good a scare. It’s not as if the organization knew that they would survive, unscathed, having every single security measure in the building undone. He may have neglected to think of this in the moment.]

As they kissed, tenderly, sweetly, the bell at the bookshop door chimed. Hesitantly, they pulled away in time to see the woman stop midway through the opening, then swiftly turn on her heels and slam the door behind her.

“That’s-” Crowley started.

“It's her,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley broke free and dashed towards the entrance.

\--

_ “We have no direct evidence as to the cause of that _incredible shitstorm_, but following review of security footage that day… we have reason to suspect the two subjects displayed here. Yes, that’s the one we had just… yes. These are now high priority targets, people. _

_ Ah-- here’s our field agent, now. Listen up. You have the floor, Agent M. Now, tell us what you know.”_

_\--_

“Come on, angel!” Crowley said, throwing open the door. Aziraphale nodded and followed his demon out, silently lamenting that he probably would not be getting any more of those fancy sweets after all. But, that was fine. He did have Crowley, after all, and was determined to never go without him ever again.

_ \-------- _

**Author's Note:**

> well that sure was a thing i did. some things just sound like better ideas at 3am.  
have some links!
> 
> https://disgustiphage.tumblr.com/  
https://twitter.com/disgustiphage  
https://www.deviantart.com/disgustiphage
> 
> transcriptions of the images with words in them (since the other pictures are described in the story):
> 
> A quick guide to Classifications  
Lock the subject in a figurative cage and discontinue figurative interactions.
> 
> Safe  
-Nothing happens  
-Nothing whatsoever
> 
> Euclid  
-something may or may not happen?  
\- ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Keter  
-It's escaped already, hasn't it?
> 
> Advanced Keter  
-It's already escaped, swapped clothes with you and tied you up
> 
> Fuck!  
-See document 36-B
> 
> \--  
sign on the wall:
> 
> SPF FOUNDATION  
Supernatural Punching Foundation (foundation)  
"We catch 'em, then we punch 'em in the face, because that's how it happened to me!" --Our founder, (unintelligible)
> 
> paper taped to sign: Note to all staff: DON'T
> 
> \--
> 
> Desc: SPF-52 is a colony of Europen honeybees (Apis mellifera)* that typically swarms in the shape of an adult human female. It answers to the names of "Agent M" or "Margella" and is to be addressed as such while....
> 
> *i thought i typed that correctly in the picture but apparently i didn't lmao. oh well


End file.
